


Almost Something

by EffingEden



Category: Prison Break
Genre: M/M, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-11-27
Updated: 2010-11-27
Packaged: 2017-10-13 10:03:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/136042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EffingEden/pseuds/EffingEden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While Mahone is on the trail of a murderer, he crosses paths with a young prostitute.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The first time he saw Michael Scofield, he dismissed him. Oh, he _looked_ at the kid, but there was nothing to interest him. His shoulders were tight and slightly hunched against the chill, his head ducked, features obscured by a cap tugged low, clothes not new or expensive but clean. The holes in the jeans knees seemed genuine, but the tears in his tshirt were aesthetic, letting glimpses of what was underneath stir the curiosity. His shoulders might be tight, but his legs were splayed. Not excessively like an over confident man displaying his power, more like he was… aching in a private location.

It was seen in a moment, not even a second. The first compartment he put Michael in was ‘Prostitute.’

There were several in the station, but the others were all female. Only three of those looked like they were under the same pimp as Michael – all the same age group, all showing the same sort of body language. Not happy to be at the station, but relaxed, safe in the knowledge they were protected. None bruised or underweight or twitching at loud sounds – they were high class. Use to cushy, relatively safe surroundings like valuable property. Not street grade. They weren’t even exchanging catcalls with the other whores.

“We got those four in the penthouse you sent us to. No one else. Just a few kids who were watching music videos on daddy’s credit card. No murderers, no mob boss, not even one doobie.” The officer, a wide-framed Renolds with thinning hair and sweat patches even in the cool of autumn, handed him a folder with what information they had gathered.

Two of the girls were cousins, all four of them were high school drop outs and aging between sixteen and nineteen. Their names sounded legitimate – no ‘Cherry Pie’s or ‘Candy Lips’. Riley Jones, Fiona Wormworth, Kendal Harris and Michael Scofield.

“Run the names through the run-aways, and the descriptions. We need to buy time, because they are not just kids cutting loose.” These kids were part of something much, much bigger – but he had to work fast. Who ever they worked for would know they had been taken in for questioning and if they were in for too long there would be punished.

It was why he had come to the police station and not had them brought to the FBI building. Who to question? He looked them over again, slower this time, watching for hints. The thinnest of the three girls had the most confidence, her eyes following the events around her absently as she talked to the others. The brunette girl was subdued, leaning towards the slimmer girl as if seeking security. The third was the only one who had dyed hair, an icy blonde that looked peculiar with her oriental features. It was she who was in charge, it seemed. The boy looked… well, apart. His head kept turning towards the three chatting girls, listening to their conversation but not trying to join in or… or being invited to do so by the girls. He wasn’t yet part of the group and he was sore – meaning he was new.

Perfect.

“Him.”

“You’ve got interrogation room three. I’ll start that search.”

“Oh, don’t rush yourself.”

“How much do you want me not to rush for, Agent Mahone?”

“Oh, half an hour.”

“Only half an hour? You sure?”

Mahone smiled. “Thirty minutes and I’ll know the kid better than his own parents.”

 

Renolds brought Michael Scofield to the interrogation room while Mahone watched through the two-way glass.

“What exactly was wrong with my paperwork?” Michael asked the officer, voice muffled by the distance between the boy and the strategically placed mic that fed the sound of the interrogation room to the viewing room. Mahone barely heard it, the background noise almost as loud. The only reply was a distant shrug and an order to sit down. The door shut, leaving the young prostitute alone. His chest heaved in a sigh Mahone couldn’t hear, his head lifting a little now he was in private. He was made nervous by people, but not much. It might be from going through a growth spurt or some light-to-medium bullying during childhood. His clothes fit well enough, the style of the jeans meant to cling, to accent a narrow waist – something that would have to be replaced if outgrown and he’d had them for some time going by the knees of them… so he had been bullied.

Now he turned, rocking back on his heel to do so. Mahone smiled, knowing he was right about the boy being sore. When he pivoted to look at the mirror, Mahone’s smile wavered. He should have anticipated the boy’s looks. All three of the girls had been beautiful enough to be models. This youth had a face that at a glance was distinctly masculine, the bone structure blocky and all-American, but his features were sensual, edging on feminine. Mahone had seen a good many androgynous men and women – none carried it like Scofield. He ticked so many boxes, no wonder he was working on the high end of the sex market.

It wasn’t just his face. His eyes were narrowed, but Mahone could pick out a blueish grey hint in the harsh light of the interrogation room, and they held a penetrating focus. Wicked and calculating. Something was driving this youth. Something he took very seriously.

With a slow stride that looked more languid than careful, Michael walked to stand before the mirror. He was standing a foot to the left of Mahone and looking three inches too high – who ever he respected the most was that height. Mahone stepped to the side to position himself in front of the boy, eyes drinking him in. A prostitute he might be, but there was something more here. Something he hadn’t expected – and Mahone wanted it.

 _Don’t get distracted._ He was here for a reason. There was a tip off that a wanted murderer had been making a deal with a local mob boss at the location where the police had picked up the four young prostitutes. It couldn’t be a coincidence. Especially not when the person who rented out the penthouse went by the name O.D. Warbucks.

“Go in,” Mahone murmured to the mic in his hand. A moment later, the door opened and his partner, Trent Cromwell, entered. Trent was a mild-looking man, blonde and sallow. None threatening. Scofield’s eyes flickered, sliding to a side to watch the man enter from the mirror’s reflection. The youth’s thick lips thinned a little, deepening at the corners for a second before his eyes snapped forwards to stare at himself. Emotion froze, and his mouth moved into a gentle, slightly mocking smile. A face he wore to mask what he was really thinking – oh, and it was almost perfect.

“Mr… Scofield, would you please take a seat?” Trent began. Mahone wished it could be him in there, interviewing – but… well, it might ruin something that had been half a year in the making.

Michael pivoted on his heel again, the motion graceful, not stiff. Like he was use to masking pain, or he wasn’t feeling it fully. He sat in the chair, putting his hips at an angle that made him slump back. One shoulder was hitched higher than the other for a few moments, though there were no pain tells on his face.

Trent looked at a file in his hands, not making eye contact with the boy and not moving away from the door. After a few moment, Michael fidgeted, his fingers stroking along the top of the table and back again. Odd, for him not to touch his clothes or face. He wasn’t nervous about his looks. In a country that valued beauty, in a living that depended upon it, it should be one of the first things that displayed. And the mirror – he only looked at himself to be sure his expression was blank.

The boy was either confident as hell or he had a very, very low perspective of himself.

Mahone rocked back on his heels as Michael’s eyes flashed towards the mirror. “The officer said there was something the matter with my paperwork.” Not a question – and the voice… like velvet. Deep, surprisingly so, and soft. There was a slight purr in it too.

“Yes. You mark your guardian as a… Lincoln Burrows. What relation is he to you?”

The youth’s eyes narrowed a little, lids flicking down briefly, heavy lashes a dark fan over lightly tanned skin. “That wasn’t a question I was asked,” he countered. “Why are you holding me here?”

“Ask him what he was doing in a penthouse with three underage girls.”

“Because you were in a hotel room with three underage girls. Want to tell me why?”

Annoyance was clear on his face. “You do realise I’m seventeen. Two of them are older than I am – are you going to arrest me, or are you fishing for dirty details?”

Bold, taunting an FBI agent. Not that Scofield knew that. He thought Trent was a police officer. He didn’t like being here. There was somewhere else he wanted to be – with a greater urgency than was usual in other cases. Maybe it had been his night off, or was he expected to be somewhere at a certain time?

“How did he meet the girls?” Mahone murmured to Trent.

Trent closed the file and said, “There is one detail I’d like to know. Where did you meet the girls?”

“Looking to get some yourself?” Michael drawled. Trent’s only reaction was to lift his gaze and pin Michael with it. They stared at each other for half a minute until Michael’s jaw clenched and he replied coldly, “I met them through a friend.”

“O. D. Warbucks?” Trent moved across to the table, sitting opposite Michael, placing the folder carefully in front of him.

“Yeah. That’s the guy.” The smile was back, but there was a vicious heat behind the grey-blue eyes now.

“So this Mr Warbucks lets you and three girls hang out in his penthouse?”

“Why are you asking me this stuff? You haven’t arrested me. There’s nothing wrong in what he’s doing.”

It was a lie, but it wasn’t. There was nothing wrong in letting a group of kids loose in a penthouse. Mahone didn’t pick up a single tell to indicate a lie – or anything else but irritation. Michael had persuaded himself it was true. Clever boy.

“Kick his foot,” Mahone said.

Trent paused, Michael continuing to follow his line of logic. “I’m a minor – you can’t talk to me without-”

Trent kicked him quite solidly in the ankle. The reaction was much bigger than it should be, Michael’s back straightening forcefully as pain rushed up it, the jolt of movement from his leg making his secret ache flare anew.

A moment later, he was on his feet, fury blazing out at Trent.

“If you turn him in, he won’t do that to you ever again.” The offer was a longshot at best, but they had to give the kid a chance.

Michael’s jaw clenched and his eyes flicked to the mirror. Aaah, temptation. He was really new, not yet emotionally dependant on his abuser. Still looking for an escape from it. The girls outside would have clammed up completely. There was something to be said about the mass conditioning of young boys to be homophobic – they struggled harder against being used as sex objects than the girls.

But again, there was something going on in Michael’s head. Something he couldn’t read clearly – then Mahone realised. Michael didn’t value himself. There was something holding him in this, something he valued more than his dignity, his safety. What could he possibly value above and beyond himself?

He saw it in a moment, before Michael’s features hardened. “Are you kidding? Who wouldn’t want to party with three cute girls.” The reply was light-hearted, totally at odds with his body language. The smile had taken on a hint of desperation and his gaze flicked from Trent to the door. Judging how fast he could move. “I’m willing not to report you if you let me and my friends leave, alright?”

“Let him go,” Mahone agreed.

Trent nodded, opened the file and pushed it towards Michael. “You didn’t put your race.”

Michael frowned slightly and glanced at the sheet. He slid the pen from where it was clipped onto the edge of the paper and marked a box on the far right. Mahone knew the sheet well enough to know the ‘Caucasian’ box was on the far left. “Why did he mark ‘other’?”

Trent leaned forwards and took the folder, eyes dipping to it. “You marked the wrong box, boy.”

“No, I didn’t. Now I’m leaving with my friends, unless you can arrest me for marking the ‘wrong box.’” He walked with the same slow stride as before, but it was more jerky now, hurting more.

Trent stood, escorting the youth out to the main lobby.

Mahone checked his watch. Not even ten minutes and only just over fifteen if the wait period at the start was included. Half the time he had wanted, but the boy had been too smart to not know his rights – and too stupid not to ask for help or accept it when offered.

A few minutes later, Trent came into the viewing room. “What do you think?”

Mahone was silent for a moment, remembering the young man’s secretive, daring gaze. It wouldn’t last. The lifestyle he was in, it would turn sullen and jaded in a matter of months. “I think ‘Mr Warbucks’ is trying to impress someone with a taste for pretty, young… people. Girls with experience and boys without… did the team find any used condoms in the room? Seeing how much Scofield was still hurting, we only just missed them.”

“Not even a tissue. He either flushed them or didn’t use any at all. None of the staff recognised the photo we showed.”

“Of course they wouldn’t. It’s the Dark Water Hotel. They’re discreet.” Mahone bit his thumb, trying to drive the image of the youth from his mind. He couldn’t help the boy. He could only try to stop him being used by the bastard that was leaving trails of bodies behind like discarded candy wrappers.

“What now, Alex?”

Mahone looked around to Trent, eyebrows lifted high. “We continue. We planned this for months. Tonight was just a fluke, it’s not going to alter anything.”

Trent’s eyes moved over his face, looking for second thoughts. Mahone waited until he was satisfied. “All right. We’re doing this.”

Trent wasn’t happy about it. He was worried, but also – envious. Trent wanted to be the one to do it, but Trent had been too long in the FBI. He’d been on TV. There were photos of him in the papers. Mahone was younger and hadn’t been connected with anything noteworthy to date. He could go places Trent couldn’t.

Such as undercover.


	2. Chapter 2

_Tick-tick-tick_

The smell of soap, clean sheets, cigarette smoke, mint and popcorn.

 _Tick-tick-tick-tick-tick_

A throb of pain through his body, radiating from between his legs.

 _Tick-tick-tick_

A soft murmur of the TV, water splashing, traffic and then a closer sound. Something that had woken him, a _tick-tick-tick_ he couldn’t place.

He opened his eyes, the light telling him it was mid afternoon. He was on a soft bed, belly down. The door was open, and there was someone close by.

“Mother fucker!” they cursed with a low ferocity. The clicking came again.

Michael lifted his head to see the intruder. “Riley?”

The youngest (and tallest) of the three girls glanced at him, shaped eyebrows lifting high in surprise. “Michael!”

He smiled at her reaction. “What are you doing?”

“I was… ah, I’m sorry. I was leaving you some painkillers.” She showed him the plastic container she held, to prove herself. “I didn’t mean to wake you up, but I could never ever get these bastards to open!” She twisted the cap, the kid-safety clicking.

Michael let his head drop back to the pillow, his smile wide. “Pass it here.”

Riley moved to the bedside and handed it to him, pushing her honey coloured hair behind an ear. “You didn’t say anything last night, but I know my first time hurt real bad. I wanted to give you some last night but Kendal… she’s in the shower now, and Fiona won’t tell.” Talking about Kendal made worry skitter across her features.

Michael wondered why as he opened the container. He shook out two into his hand. “Thank you, Riley. A lot.”

Riley smiled and looked away. “Sure. So, you’re going to come to the Eighth Wonder tonight? Kendal got a call telling us to be there, but she didn’t ask if that meant you too.”

“I’ll find out.” He’d been told last night had been a one time thing, but Michael wasn’t so gullible. If he had sex with who they told him to, the debt would be paid back all the sooner. They might be able to pay it all back before Linc got in too deep.

He hadn’t talked to his brother in a week. He was worried, but he couldn’t do anything if he didn’t know what was going on. So he was doing his best to help Linc in the only way he could.

Riley nodded and took the bottle of painkillers back. “Just ask if you want any more. I’ve got to get ready.” She left, leaving him watching after her retreating form. He rolled the pills between his fingers then swallowed them down before sliding out of bed. He had to find his phone – he had a loan shark to talk to.

 

The club was high class, from the decor to the clients to the grade of the drugs. The lights threw purple highlights over the barely clothed rich young things who partied as hard as they could.

He wasn’t dressed like the flashy kids, but it didn’t matter. There were men in suits scattered through the place, older men looking for something under the influence to take advantage of or making sure the coke and ket were kept from eyesight.

Alex kept close to the man guiding him through the confusion of dance floors and lounge areas. The club was huge, a maze of beauty and decadence with something sinister about the overall feel, like a spider web.

At the VIP section, they were stopped. The bouncer pressed his headpiece and waited as they were checked out via a security camera. Mahone looked up at it then at the man, Andre, who was going to introduce him as a friend in need of work and with few scruples to complicate things.

Andre was looking relaxed if a little impatient. Mahone would have been impressed with his acting skills if he hadn’t known Andre was a user. Some sort of tranquilliser that made his reactions slow and clumsy. He worked for Louis Vaughn as a computer hacker, a very talented man who had squeezed several million out of three of the top banks.

They had caught him out half a year ago, and this was the price for a shortened sentence.

“Enjoy your evening Mr Johnson. And you too, sir.” The bouncer had a slight Canadian accent, his body language saying he was attentive but at ease. It was a calm night then. Nothing was on the radar. Good. They weren’t expecting anything.

“Thanks Omar. Hey, give Cindy my love.”

“Will do, sir.”

Alex and Andre went through, entering a short, low-lit passage before coming out into a lounge area. There was a large pillow pit in front of a wall where lights span and twisted in time to the music. There was a bar with none of the trashy, bright coloured drinks of the younger generation. The air was scented with opium smoke and a dozen different colognes and perfumes. There were more suits in here, even some women wearing them.

The only pretty young things in this room were disposable toys.

Andre touched his chest, an intimate gesture that surprised Mahone into blinking. Andre was on tranqs, he would have lowered inhibitions, of course. And it would help in persuading whoever he had to get on the good side of that he was legitimate. “Alex, lets go on over to the blue corner.”

They moved to where there were three couches, all the same shade of deep blue, clustered together in a fashion that was more businesslike than the rest of the room. A good place for an informal meeting – though the hint of opium in the air made it feel a little too informal.

“Louis should be around. He’ll come over if he’s not busy.” Andre dropped onto a couch, Alex sitting with him. The hacker lifted a hand at the bar, and the tender jerked his chin in acknowledgment. Other people had noticed them, though no one seemed unhappy at Andre’s appearance, or the presence of Alex.

A slinky, dusky skinned girl in blue made her way over. Andre told her to bring over a double shot of whiskey. Alex asked for a rum. As she turned to leave, Andre’s eyes slid to Alex, eyebrow lifting slightly. “You sure you want to be drinking? What with… you know…”

“Don’t worry about that.” Alex didn’t like rum, so he wouldn’t be tempted to drink it fast and it would give him something to hold so he didn’t stand out.

Andre looked away, his shoulder lifting in a dismissive shrug. “Right, right. Man, I hate coming here.”

Mahone’s gaze snapped to the man. “Why is that?” he said casually, masking his sudden flare of worry.

“It’s like window shopping with my Ex-wife. She always dragged me into these expensive shops, to look at things that were out of reach. Crazy, man.”

Alex relaxed, taking note at the forlorn yearning in the other man’s expression, and the way he watched the women flirting and teasing the men. “Not allowed to touch?”

He shook his head slightly. “These chicks are only for top dollar. And… that’s the big daddy-o himself.” Alex looked towards the door. The man looked just like many of the other men in the room – middle-aged with dark brown hair, dark eyes and a slightly orange tan. His suit was Armani and his fingers had heavy gold rings. He entered with four girls. Alex recognised three of them – the three young hookers from the penthouse. The fourth was a Hispanic girl, with curves and luscious black curls.

Wasn’t Michael part of their unit?

A beat later, and the door was pushed open again. Another man in a finely cut suit came in, his mousy hair brushing his collar and his eyes cold and calculating. There was the shape of a gun the suit just couldn’t hide and when he turned his head, Alex could see there was a scar at his neck. The man’s gaze lingered on Alex, but his ruse of harmlessness obviously worked – the man opened the door wider, holding it for who was waiting in the corridor.

“Oh shit, that’s Ricco.” Alex wasn’t sure which man Andre was referring to – the bodyguard or the man dressed in a pale cream suit. It was rumpled, and he had no necktie, but his confidence was greater than the pimp’s. His skin seemed darker next to the cream cloth, the only colour coming from the flashes of teal silk lining his jacket and his belt buckle. He was smiling genuinely, his attention behind him… on Scofield.

The youth walked a little behind the smaller man, his head tilted to a side as he talked. He was wearing a burgundy shirt and leather pants that clutched his legs tight. A silver chain was looped around his narrow hips, the end of it swinging free as he walked, drawing the eye to crotch level.

Michael’s hair, a feature hidden from Alex yesterday by a cap, was dark. Nearly black with tight curls. His lips were pulled up into a conspiratorial smile, his grey-blue eyes dancing. When he finished speaking, the other man laughed loudly.

Softly, Alex asked, “Who are those three?”

“I just said. Ricco Vargas. He’s the owner of the clubs across town, a silent partner in this one – and a loan shark. He’s not the biggest fish in the pond but only because he doesn’t want to be. Been around longer than any of the other bosses. His bodyguard there is Marius Castillo. That hustler is just some poor kid he’s taken as a guarantee. It was a trade-mark of his, so I heard. He quit doing it, but either he’s owed big money or he thinks he can get more by keeping hold of that one.”

“None of them people we want to meet, then.”

“Nah, man. No one will see us for at least another hour. Make us sweat, you know.”

The waitress approached them with their drinks, and Alex was grateful he had ordered something he disliked. Seeing how deep Michael was in and knowing there was no way to save him made his chest feel like it was being squeezed, the need to apologise pressing against the back of his teeth.

 

Ricco’s laugh was low and full, surprised humour across his face. “I’ll never be able to look my priest in the eye again, boy! Yours never noticed what you went and did?”

Michael’s smile faltered slightly, but he shrugged slightly, the silk of the shirt making his skin twitch a little. “I never saw him again. I can only imaging what his reaction was when he saw the goldfish.”

The man chuckled and shook his head. “Devious. That’s what you are.” He held up two fingers, and the bar tender nodded, taking another glass and putting in a large measure of bourbon. “You’ll have a drink with me. I wanted to talk to you, but… ah… not in front of Slade’s girls. They tell him everything. Take them.”

Michael went to the bar and picked up the two drinks. He turned to go back to Ricco, but the man and his bodyguard were already headed for the back of the room. Michael angled to meet them there, side stepping a woman’s reaching hand. His eyes flicked to the corner he was passing, seeing two men seated there. One looked wasted, the other stared at him as he passed. There was such intensity in the man’s blue eyes, Michael almost stopped. He wasn’t use to that level of attention.

It didn’t matter. He caught up with Ricco and they went to the back rooms. The corridor wasn’t as tight as the one they had passed through to get to the VIP section, and there was better lighting. Through another door marked ‘Manager’s office’ and they were in a richly furnished room. It was more like a boudoir than an office, but it did have a desk and official looking chair – though it was opposite a sofa deep enough to be a bed.

Ricco didn’t go for the bed or the desk, but two conservative armchairs that didn’t quite face each other. The man sat and gestured for Michael to pass him his drink. He did so, and Ricco nodded at the opposite chair.

The loan shark sipped his bourbon and waited for Michael to do the same before starting, “Morrison spoke highly of you last night.”

Michael glanced down. He had known they would have this talk, but it wasn’t something he had looked forwards to. “I can’t see why. I’ve never been with a guy before. I didn’t know what he wanted… apart from the obvious.”

His eyes flicked up, seeing Ricco’s smile. It felt like ice water was being dripped over his skin. That smile meant something bad. “Your natural intuition must be excellent, then.”

“Still, I didn’t enjoy it. I’d rather not do it again.”

Ricco’s black eyes narrowed slowly. “Your brother hasn’t been in contact for five days, Michael. He is not filling me with confidence. Will he pay me back the money? Will he run? Or is he ratting me out, right now? I don’t know these things. Not knowing them makes me unhappy. Rates of interest increase when I am not happy, Michael.”

Michael’s face froze, eyes fixed on Ricco’s. “Lincoln wouldn’t run or turn rat.”

“I won’t argue with you. I like you too much. If you want me to stay happy, Michael, you’ll do what I say. If that ‘what’ turns into a ‘who’, you don’t complain. And you don’t try to wriggle out of it. This is not what I wanted to talk about. Ah.” He sighed and took a deeper swallow of his drink.

Michael lifted his own glass, gaze flicking to Marius. The man was scowling at him again, eyes heavy lidded and lip curled into a snarl. Ricco couldn’t see. Michael dropped his eyes and lowered his glass, the heavy, strong taste of the alcohol burning with a soft heat against his tongue and throat.

“There is something that would make me very, very happy, Michael. I would be able to ignore your brother’s absence for another week, if I get it.” Ricco leaned forwards, drawing Michael’s eyes up to him again. Ricco’s expression was intense. “I might even shave off a few bones from what Lincoln owes me.”

“What is it you want?” Michael asked after a moment’s pause.

Ricco smiled slowly. “Just a file. If you could get your Sunday school pets from a tank to a font in the of a service, finding one file should be child’s play.”

Michael’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “You want me to be your admin?”

“No. The file is in the house of someone else. A judge. We tried to get it at the courthouse, but… it was moved. And this judge didn’t notice Slade’s top three girls… so that either makes him a paedophile, a saint or…”

Michael let his eyes drop again, looking at his glass of barely touched alcohol. “When. How.”

“There, Marius. I told you he knew how to behave. Tomorrow. He will be at a club – not like this one. One where they smoke and talk about politics. We have a uniform for you – you will mix his drinks, light his cigars and make him notice you. We need the originals, so you’ll have to get them out of the house and distract him while they get… corrected. Then put the file back once it’s done. That’s all.”

“That’s all,” Michael repeated, voice low in disbelief. It was a very big ‘all’.

“Too difficult?” There was a diamond hardness in Ricco’s tone.

Michael shook his head slowly. “No sir.”

“Good. Drink up, boy. It’s a very good brand.”


	3. Chapter 3

Louis was a half-cast man of forty or so with a powerfully deep voice. His face was scarred, pitted and smattered with dark freckles across his cheeks and temples. He was dressed casually in a red shirt and grey dress pants, thick bands of gold glinting from his fingers and neck. He exuded such confidence Alex might have thought the man was a major player, had he not seen Nicco and the pimp enter an hour before. He looked between Alex and Andre with a half smile, as if trying to decide whether to be amused or annoyed at their daring.

After several moments he sat, leaned back and shooed away the woman who had followed him. “So, you’re looking for some work, Mr Hawkins?”

Alex nodded once. “Something to supplement my current income, as it were.”

“You work as a dealer of art?”

“Of antiques.”

“Art, antiques… we don’t have much use for either.”

Alex lifted his shoulder in a slight shrug. “I have other skills. I use to… acquire jewellery, though I have more a talent as a tactician.”

As soon as he had said it, Louis’ attention focused sharply. “Oh?” he said softly. His gaze flicked to Andre. “What a coincidence. That’s exactly what we need.”

The hacker’s voice was harsh will offence, his anger not quite masking the thread of panic. “Hey man, he’s a friend! I knew you were looking for someone, and I knew Alan had what you needed.” He shifted his weight forwards uneasily, tossing back the last of his second drink. “You think that English dick’s going to be any use? Have you heard his ideas?”

“Fritz is Australian.”

“That doesn’t make his ideas any less fucked up.”

Louis looked between the two men for a moment longer, his jaw working a little as if he was licking his teeth as he thought. “Bring him to Sasha’s tomorrow. We’ll see which can be the more useful. No guarantee we take him – and if he’s anything but what he says he is, well. It won’t just be him-”

Andre barked with laughter. “You threatening me, man? Just try finding someone who can do what I do. We’ll be there.”

The dark skinned man narrowed his eyes at Andre, annoyance clear on his scarred face. “Do not make me regret it,” he growled. He stood, straightened his shirt and moved away, restrained tension across his shoulders.

“Was provoking him necessary?” Alex asked, watching the man as he grabbed his woman’s wrist and tugged her towards the more private areas.

“Yeah, don’t worry man. He’d be suspicious if I’d said anything else. Fuck, I need a drink.”

There was a rattle of pills and Alex turned his attention back to the hacker, who was shaking out two round pills from an orange med bottle. “Who’s Fritz?”

Andre grunted. “Some half-deaf retard they got in New York. His stuff is whack, you don’t gotta worry. Worse than useless, he is. Fucking armature.”

Alex smiled briefly at Andre’s lack of patience. “Why didn’t you mention this guy before?”

“I can’t keep them all straight, man. Too many little guys that just vanish after one or two jobs. They’re nothing, you know?” He swallowed the pills and grimaced slightly as they went down dry. He gestured at Alex’s untouched drink. “Can I…?”

“Sure. Tell me about Sasha’s. Is it another club?”

Andre took a mouthful of the rum and put down the glass. “No, man. Sasha is Slade’s – the pimp-daddy’s – sister by marriage. Just outside town. Big ass place.” His eyes tracked across the room, following the movement of someone.

“Okay. Do you usually leave after you’ve seen Louis?”

“Huh? Oh, nah man. I chill for a while, you know? Some of the others might come through. Or I’d, like, go to the main floor. If you have a suit, the girls all want to dance with you.”

Alex nodded then stood. “Where are the toilets in this place?”

“Uh. Back there.”

“Don’t go anywhere.”

Andre shot him a glare but slumped back against the couch, his tranqs tacking effect.

 

Michael’s gaze was lowered, fixed on the amber liquid in the glass. It was mostly gone, and he was feeling the blurring fuzz in his mind. It was pleasantly hazing the details – though his relaxed mind made the oddest of connections. The bull-shaped paperweight on Ricco’s desk had an outstretched hoof that could be used as a screwdriver. There were twenty-three screws around the room he could get to. Maybe more if he could get to the speakers set high on the walls. He couldn’t reach them using the desk chair, but probably with the wing-backed chair he was in now, if he could balance while standing on the high back. Why he would need those screws, he wasn’t sure. He really wanted to get them. It was difficult not to get up and look at the room, investigate ever cranny, just to know exactly what was where.

“What did they ask you at the police station?” The question was soft and casual. It made hairs rise over his skin.

“Mmmn. They wanted to know what I was doing with three girls. And they asked about Linc, what relation he was. Nothing much.”

“Anything else?”

Michael lifted his eyes to Ricco’s. “They wanted to know who had rented the room. I didn’t give them anything. They were questioning me illegally so I walked out.”

Ricco’s mouth twitched in a smile. “I knew you were too smart for them.”

Michael bit his lip, remembering the offer extended to him. Turn him in and he’d never do it again. “Will I… will I be, ah, entertaining Mr Morrison again?”

The look Ricco pinned him with was intense, cold and curious.

Marius snorted in disgust. “He’s getting cocky, now he thinks he’s clever. You shouldn’t let him use his mouth for talking, Ricco.”

“Let’s not have a repeat of Carl, Marius. That was ugly.” The calm, quiet words pulled the other man’s aggression short. Surprise and remembered anger played across Marius’ face before he stepped back and turned away, hands clenching at his side.

Michael’s attention snapped back to Ricco as the loan shark propped his chin on his hand, elbow braced on the armrest. “Why do you ask, Michael?”

He dropped his gaze again, and swallowed. “He wanted me to do some things before he saw me again – if he saw me again.”

“Oh?”

“He wanted me to spend a few hours at the gym, work on my upper body.” He wasn’t going to get muscle definition in one or two sessions – that Morrison had told him to do it… the bastard was planning on being around for months.

“That can be arranged. A personal trainer, for… hum, one, two hours a day? What else.”

Michael glanced up at Ricco, then down to his glass again. He took a breath, then let it out, trying to think of how best to say it. He tried again, saying with great reluctance, “He wants me to wax.”

There was a stifled snort of laughter from Marius. Michael felt his mouth twisting in embarrassment, but he clenched his jaw and forced the emotion away. It would just give Marius more power if he saw Michael react.

“This can be done, too. It is important to make Morrison happy, Michael. We want him to stay. That he has asked you to do these things is very good.”

He nodded, but didn’t lift his head.

“Anything else?”

“Ah…”

“Tell me. I have to know he hasn’t asked you to do something I might has issue with. Did he tell you to call somebody? Send a message, pick something up?”

“No. No, nothing like that. He wanted me to practice… holding off.”

Marius laughed aloud, mocking hoots that made the tips of his ears burn. “Too fast off the draw, boy? Get too excited having a cock pound your ass?”

“Marius, stop talking. Now.” The venom in those words made the bodyguard’s laughter die in an instant. “Michael,” he said, his tone still carrying the threat meant for Marius. “Michael, it’s all right. There will be time enough for you to do your homework – but not tonight.”

Michael lifted his head, eyes fixing on Ricco’s again, trying to see what the man was thinking. “What do you want me to do tonight?”

Ricco’s expression softened a little. He liked being deferred to, have those under him play the obedient pawns, willing to be moved about however he wished. Michael wondered, so long as he was obedient, how far would Ricco let him go?

“Just relax and enjoy yourself. Tonight, the club is your playground. Treat yourself to one of Slade’s girls. Don’t drink too much, though. You have to be sharp tomorrow.”

Tomorrow, when he’d have to seduce a judge. Michael swallowed and murmured, “I’d rather go back to the penthouse and rest, Ricco-”

“Ungrateful little cocksucker-”

“Marius! Lose that attitude now, do you hear me?”

“Ricco-”

“Lose it, or I will lose _you_.”

The silence was heavy. Michael had lowered his eyes and kept very still, not wanting to attract their attention. He nearly flinched when Ricco’s cell phone started to ring.

With a low sigh, Ricco fished the slender phone from his pocket and opened it with a snap. “Hello.” The was a brief hesitation, as if caller was surprised by the hostility in Ricco’s tone. Michael heard a low voice ask a question. “No, no. Just a little turmoil. How can I help you, John?”

Michael kept his gaze down and his body relaxed, his breathing as quiet as he could. Marius was also frozen in place, but Michael could feel the searing heat of his glare.

The voice rumbled, the tone happy. “Ah, you’re very welcome. Oh, Michael. Go play. I want you seen.” Michael lifted him gaze then stood silently. “Wait, wait. Give this to Slade.” Michael paused, and Ricco reached into his pocket, pulling out a small notepad and pen. He scribbled a note and tore it out, handing it to Michael. “Go on.” As he walked towards the door, Ricco spoke to the caller, John. “Collateral for a debt. The boy from last night... No, he’s seventeen. Maybe, but it’s the easiest age to manage them. Yes, I will. We will. I wanted to ask you about the Sven situation-”

Michael shut the door behind him, not looking back, knowing Marius would be staring after him with loathing.

Michael lifted his hands to his head and rubbed his hair. He hated this. He was powerless. He had nothing he could use. Nothing to gain any advantage. It was like… like all he could get at were screws. They were useless alone.

Where the fuck was Linc? They could go to the police, they could run away to another city or another country… Linc hadn’t wanted to when this started. Said Child Services would take him away, and if they ran they wouldn’t be able to take the money with them. It would all be for nothing.

Even going back into the system would be better than this. He had to find Lincoln.

He walked towards the VIP area and fished out his cell, started punching in his brother’s number – then stopped. He looked back at the office, then up to the ceiling of the corridor. A discreet camera was looking down at him. He closed his phone and put it back in his back pocket.

The low pulse of the music made the soles of his feet tickle as it throbbed through the floor, an echo for his heartbeat. Electric guitar and drums entwined with a sexless voice crooning soft nothings, quiet enough not to cause those relaxing to raise their voices. The air carried a rich, coiling smoke he was coming to recognise. There weren’t any aggressive colours, the mood of this part of the club to calm and sooth.

It felt fake to Michael.

He saw Slade after a few moments of scanning the room, and made his way over to the man. He was talking to a moody woman, her heavy-lidded eyes drifting to-and-fro until they fixed on Michael as he approached.

“Slade,” he interrupted, holding out the note. “Ricco told me to give you this.”

The pimp looked far from happy for being interrupted, but took the note from Michael. He read it and looked even less impressed. “Looks like you did something right, boy.”

Michael lifted his chin a little, his eyebrows pulling together. “Just what I was told.”

The man gave him a dower look. “Some advice. Keep doing it. You really want to be in Ricco’s good books, ‘cause if that debt don’t get paid…”

“I know,” Michael snapped.

The moody woman’s lips twitched up and a smirk. “Careful Slade. Puppy’s got teeth.”

“Get along, boy. You see someone you like, catch my eye and you can spend some quality time with her.”

“Oh, pick me, Puppy. I’ll make you howl…”

“Maybe another time,” Michael murmured, turning away.

He meandered through the club, trying not to look like he was heading anywhere in particular, looking at the ceiling every now-and-then, counting the cameras, trying to find a blind spot. There wasn’t one. He wasn’t surprised. He stood still for a few beats of the music, then rocked forwards again, wending his way towards the toilets.

They smelt faintly of bleach, the light brighter in here than the lounge. It was cream tiled, the fixtures accented in Roman scrolling. It seemed… surreal.

He passed a man using one of the urinals, gaze lifting to see if there was any cameras. There were none, at all. Michael took out his phone again, but didn’t try to call Linc. He turned it over and slid a thumbnail into the small gab, levering up the casing after a little wriggling. The electrical innards were exposed, and at first Michael didn’t see anything odd. He didn’t know phone components, but he understood circuitry. It was simple. He followed the wires from the battery to the computer chips with his eyes, his mind drinking the details. If he wasn’t tipsy, he might not have seen it at all.

In one component, there was four wires where there should have been two. The circuit had never meant to support four wires – the originals had been bared at the very ends to make room for the new wires to link in. The new wires went to a small, silvery disk, three millimetres thick and half an inch in diameter. It didn’t seem to go with the other pieces – its sheen was too high. The other pieces hadn’t been buffed. It was a bug.

Michael let his breath out through his nose, staring at the little scrap of metal that stopped him contacting anyone he loved. If he tried to call Linc, they would know. If he told Linc his plan, he’d be as good as telling Ricco to his face. If he called Veronica… he didn’t want to think about it.

The sound of a zip pulled him out of his thoughts. With quick care, he slid the back of the phone into place and slipped it into his back pocket. He leaned over the sink, wet his fingers and wiped them over his eyes, forehead and cheeks.

The man went to the sink to his left, washing his hands. Michael saw him staring out the corner of his eye. Normally, he wouldn’t have done anything, but at that very moment, Michael was tired of being watched.

“Do you need something?” he said in a low whisper, not turning to look at the man.

“No,” came the slightly surprised reply. “Do you?”

Michael turned his head to look at the man, not trusting his gentle voice. It wasn’t like Ricco’s. There wasn’t any malice behind the soft tone. The stranger’s face didn’t hold arrogance or cruelty. He seemed actually concerned.

Guilt washed through Michael, bitterness making his stomach clench miserably. Lashing out at strangers? It wasn’t this guy’s fault. “Sorry,” he said and shook his head, looking at himself in the mirror, just so he wouldn’t have to look at the man. There was a moment of silence, and Michael turned away, about to return to the lounge – then stopped. “Actually,” he said, and turned back to the stranger, “do you have a phone? My battery died.”

The man turned off the tap and shook droplets off his fingers. “Yeah, sure. Hold on…” He dried his hands on a paper towel and reached into his inner breast pocket. “Here you go.”

It was an older model, but Michael only wanted it for the basic function. He pressed in Lincoln’s number and moved a little away from the door. An automated message played, telling him the number was out of range or turned off. He hung up and hesitated, bringing up Veronica’s number from memory.

It rang. Relief flooded him. It kept ringing. The stranger watched him, leaning back against the sinks. Michael’s gaze drifted over him, still not sure what to make of the man. He looked thirty or so, his features not conventionally handsome but there was something… attractive in his face.

It went to voice mail. “Hey, Vee,” he said, casting his gaze down as he spoke, making sure his voice didn’t hold any of his anxiety. “When you get this can you see if you can find Linc? I’ve not seen him for a while. Love you, take care. Oh – don’t call this number back, it’s not mine.”

He hung up and held it out to the stranger. “Thanks,” he murmured.

The man smiled briefly. “No problem. Is Vee your girl?”

Michael smiled at the idea. “No. My brother’s.”

“And Linc…?”

Michael took a slow breath and answered, “My dog.” He let the air out again slowly, biting his lower lip for a moment.

“Worried?”

Michael nodded slightly. “Yeah.”

The man pocketed the phone, still leaning against the bank of sinks. “You could always try Animal Services. Professionals might be able to find him faster.”

It seemed an odd thing to say… like he wasn’t referring to a dog at all. Did he know something? He drew breath to ask, but hesitated. He was being paranoid. There wasn’t any way this guy could know anything. Instead, Michael smiled sadly and said, “I doubt it. I should get back out there.” He didn’t make any move to leave. He looked towards the door, but all that was out there was another night of fucking someone he didn’t want to.

Another night of not knowing where Lincoln was.

“Nothing wrong with gathering yourself,” the stranger murmured. Was he trying to be comforting?

“I’m not ‘gathering myself,’” Michael said dully. “I’m stalling.”

There was a rustle of fabric, and Michael guessed the man had shrugged. “When an engine stalls, you have to turn it off before trying to get it running again.”

Michael turned his head to the older man, eyebrows high at the metaphor. It almost sounded like something Lincoln would say – only he would use women instead of cars… somehow. “Why are you being nice to me?” he asked, not trusting it.

The man’s mouth twitched as if he was trying not to smile. “I’m not being nice-”

“Yes you are!”

“- I am being congenial. There’s a difference.”

He let the corners of his mouth lift a little. “Mmmn. If I were cynical, I’d think you were after something.”

“Really?” The man laughed slightly as he said it.

Michael nodded his head once, slowly. “But what a guy like you would want from someone like me…” He inhaled and asked quickly, “Do you think I could get you connected?”

The man looked nonplussed for a second, his thin lips parted. Then his pale eyebrow rose, making faint lines crease his high forehead. “I have enough connections.”

Michael let his voice drop to a suggestive, husky whisper. “Maybe you want to connect in a different way.”

That got a reaction. The man swallowed and there was a flash of pink tongue sliding across his lower lip. “Ah, I’m not looking to hook up.”

“You were staring at me when I came in the club. You’ve been staring at me since I came in here.”

Mischief crept into the stranger’s tone and eyes as he leaned forwards a little. “Maybe because the last time I saw someone in leather pants, was over ten years ago. It’s quite the fashion statement.”

He couldn’t help the short laugh. He lowered his head and looked down at his own legs, then glanced up at the man, hands brushing his hips. “This place doesn’t like jeans. It was either leather or PVC.”

“Oh, you made the right choice then.” Michael flashed him a smile, and the guy hesitated before continuing, “Do you like this club so much you’d put up with it?”

Michael’s gaze fixed on the stranger’s sharp blue eyes. “Honestly? I don’t think anywhere is worth these, but staying home wasn’t an option.”

The man’s lips tugged to a side and he started to say something else, when Michael’s attention was jerked towards the door. There were footsteps approaching. The cadence of them made it only one person. With a jerk he started for the stalls, but there were too far – Marius would be in before Michael got to them.

The stranger was straightening, alarmed by Michael’s sudden movements. Michael looked at the man, making a decision a millisecond before he acted. He closed the distance between himself and the stranger in one step, their bodies bumping. Michael ignored the man’s shocked expression and tilted his head, sliding his lips over the stranger’s.

They were warm and a little damp, a little rough – then they were gone. The man pulled away, his hand bracing on Michael’s chest, about to push him away, rejecting the sudden advance, but Michael chased after his lips, catching the lower between his own and licking it coyly. One of the man’s hands slipped up to his throat, not quite cupping his jaw but not forcing him back, either. And then he responded, tilting his head down, his mouth moving against Michael’s as if he was trying to devour him. Lips teased, teeth punished and tongue forgave, lancing against Michael’s own. The man moaned softly, his hand sliding to Michael’s hip and under the silk shirt to stroke his lower back and dip under his waistband.

Michael’s own hands moved restlessly from the man’s hips to his chest then raked down before ghosting over the stranger’s crotch, rubbing his palm over the firm rod of flesh there. The man made a guttural sound and pulled back from the kiss, turning his head to bite and suck down Michael’s jaw and throat, finding a spot just under his ear that made him gasp and his hips buck forwards.

The stranger pushed and nudged until Michael fell back a step, his hands gripping his waist and upper arm, his feet tangling between Michael’s and then – the world spun and his back was bruised, shoved hard against a cool wall . It made Michael hiss, but the sound was cut off when the man’s mouth claimed his again.

A door slammed.

The kiss changed from hungry to careful, then stopped all together. The stranger pulled his mouth back, his breathing quick but not gasping, not ragged. Not like Michael's. Panting, Michael dropped his head onto the man's shoulder, not wanting to have to face what he'd done. “Think it fooled him?” the man asked Michael with a strange distance in his tone.

He lifted his head with a grimace. “I think so. Sorry. Again. Um. I couldn’t think of anything else but… uh…”

The man’s cool expression crumbled and he ducked his head, laughing breathily then gave Michael a lop-sided smile. “You couldn’t think of anything else but kiss me. I suppose I’ll forgive you. I’m told I have that effect.” He stepped back, but Michael stayed leaning against the wall for a few more moments.

“Did you have to shove so hard?”

The man had eased away to the mirrors, where he was straightening his shirt. His eyebrow perked at Michael’s complaint and a small smile danced over his lips. “You wanted it to look real, right? I couldn’t imagine anyone would be able to take it slow with you. At least, not the first time.”

Michael snorted softly.

The man shrugged. “Do you want a drink?”

“Yes,” Michael admitted. “But I shouldn’t have more. I need to function tomorrow.”

The man nodded and smoothed his hands down the front of his shirt, trying to erase the wrinkles made by Michael’s fumbling.

Michael straightened from the wall, the movement bringing the man’s sharp-eyed gaze back onto him. “I’m not sure, but Marius… he might come after you.”

To that, the man’s expression became sly. “Oh, I hope he does.” His voice was low and sounded dangerous. It was a trick Michael was use to – first from his brother, then by Ricco. Morrison did it too. Michael’s eyes dropped.

“I should really go now.”

“Have a good evening.”

“Yeah. You too.”

He left the men’s room without even glancing at the mirror. As he walked back towards the lounge, he licked his lower lip and held it between his teeth, fighting the urge to look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, an old WIP with little chance of revival


End file.
